Page 97 of Awaiting the Storm
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I mutter, pressing my forehead to the dashboard. The leather is cold. It helps. “I told you that in the bar, I told you that in the parking lot, and I’m telling you now.”
Harleigh laughs over my shoulder. “Which is exactly why we’re going right to his place so you can say your piece. It’s for your emotional well-being.”
“My emotional well-being was shot all to hell the minute we started doing lemon drops.”
“I can’t help the men at the pool tables kept sending them over. It would have been impolite not to drink them,” Harleigh says.
“I only had four,” Charli declares proudly. “Harleigh drank my other two.”
“You guys are just outta practice. Four shots are what we do while getting ready to go out on campus.” Harleigh snorts.
Shelby, the only sober one among us, sighs. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but y’all are insane. Matty, if you want me to turn around, just say the word.”
“Oh, now, you offer,” I grumble as she takes the turn onto the road that leads to Caison’s cabin.
Charli leans forward, putting a hand on my knee. “Matty. Sissy. Listen. You’re too hot, too smart, and too damn good to be moping over some man, even one with rich chocolate eyes and a voice like sin. So, we”—she pauses to gesture to all three of them—“your guard-dog sisters, are going to help you get closure with that douchebag.”
“I don’t need closure,” I grit out. “I need a hot shower and a sandwich to soak up the alcohol sloshing around in my stomach.”
“Well, maybe you should’ve eaten more at dinner,” Harleigh mutters.
“And maybe y’all should’ve left me at home!”
Charli shrugs. “Too late.”
Shelby’s truck pulls up the driveway to Caison’s cabin.
“What if he’s asleep?” I mutter.
Charli scrunches her nose. “It’s only nine.”
It feels so much later.
The log cabin comes into sight. The porch glows warmly, and there’s a faint flicker of light coming through the front window.
“Guess he’s up. Let’s go give him a piece of our minds!” Charli cries.
God help me, I do want to see him.
Maybe to yell or punch him in the face. Or maybe to grab that smug, maddening face and kiss him hard enough to forget everything he’s done.
Charli throws her arm across the back of the seat and squeezes my shoulder. “All right, ladies. This is it. We ride at dawn.”
“It’s nine o’clock. We’ve covered this already,” Shelby deadpans.
Charli ignores her. “We haven’t come this far to come this far. Now get your game faces on. Matty’s ready to rumble.”
“Correction,” I say tightly, “Matty’s ready for her warm bed because it’s November and she’s wearing a dress the size of a postage stamp.”
Harleigh leans up. “And she looks hot as hell in it, which is just going to rub salt in ol’ boy’s wound.”
Charli kicks the door open. “Let’s go, girls.”
“No, no, no.” I reach for her, but she’s already halfway out of the truck.
Harleigh follows from the back with a loud cackle and a drunken twirl.
They step to the side and I scramble out, muttering curses under my breath, but before I even get both feet on the ground—
